Chapter 21

by Upton Sinclair

　　Montague started to walk. He had no idea where he went; his mind wasin a whirl, and he was lost to everything about him. He must havespent a couple of hours wandering about the park and the streets ofthe city; when at last he stopped and looked about him, he was on alighted thoroughfare, and a big clock in front of a jewellery storewas pointing to the hour of two.

　　He looked around. Immediately across the street was a building whichhe recognised as the office of the Express; and in a flash hethought of Bates. "Come in after the paper has gone to press," thelatter had said.

　　He went in and entered the elevator.

　　"I want to see Mr. Bates, a reporter," he said.

　　"City-room," said the elevator man; "eleventh floor."

　　Montague confronted a very cross and sleepy-looking office-boy. "IsMr. Bates in?" he asked.

　　"I dunno," said the boy, and slowly let himself down from the tableupon which he had been sitting. Montague produced a card, and theboy disappeared. "This way," he said, when he returned; and Montaguefound himself in a huge room, crowded with desks and chairs.Everything was in confusion; the floor was literally buried out ofsight in paper.

　　Montague observed that there were only about a dozen men in theroom; and several of these were putting on their coats. "There heis, over there," said the office-boy.

　　He looked and saw Bates sitting at a desk, with his head buried inhis arms. "Tired," he thought to himself.

　　"Hello, Bates," he said; then, as the other looked up, he gave astart of dismay.

　　"What's the matter?" he cried.

　　It was half a minute before Bates replied. His voice was husky."They sold me out," he whispered.

　　"What!" gasped the other.

　　"They sold me out!" repeated Bates, and struck the table in front ofhim. "Cut out the story, by God! Did me out of my scoop!

　　"Look at that, sir," he added, and shoved toward Montague a doublecolumn of newspaper proofs, with a huge head-line, "Gotham TrustCompany to be Wrecked," and the words scrawled across in bluepencil, "Killed by orders from the office."

　　Montague could scarcely find words to reply. He drew up a chair andsat down. "Tell me about it," he said.

　　"There's nothing much to tell," said Bates. "They sold me out. Theywouldn't print it."

　　"But why didn't you take it elsewhere?" asked the other.

　　"Too late," said Bates; "the scoundrels--they never even let meknow!" He poured out his rage in a string of curses.

　　Then he told Montague the story.

　　"I was in here at half-past ten," he said, "and I reported to themanaging editor. He was crazy with delight, and told me to goahead--front page, double column, and all the rest. So Rodney and Iset to work. He did the interview, and I did all the embroidery--oh,my God, but it was a story! And it was read, and went through; andthen an hour or two ago, just when the forms were ready, in comesold Hodges--he's one of the owners, you know--and begins nosinground. 'What's this?' he cries, and reads the story; and then hegoes to the managing editor. They almost had a fight over it. 'Nopaper that I am interested in shall ever print a story like that!'says Hodges; and the managing editor threatens to resign, but hecan't budge him. The first thing I knew of it was when I got thiscopy; and the paper had already gone to press."

　　"What do you suppose was the reason for it?" asked Montague, inwonder.

　　"Reason?" echoed Bates. "The reason is Hodges; he's a crook. 'If wepublish that story,' he said,'the directors of the bank will nevermeet, and we'll bear the onus of having wrecked the Gotham TrustCompany.' But that's all a bluff, and he knew it; we could provethat that conference took place, if it ever came to a fight."

　　"You were quite safe, it seems to me," said Montague.

　　"Safe?" echoed Bates. "We had the greatest scoop that a newspaperever had in this country--if only the Express were a newspaper. ButHodges isn't publishing the news, you see; he's serving his masters,whoever they are. I knew that it meant trouble when he bought intothe Express. He used to be managing editor of the Gazette, you know;and he made his fortune selling the policy of that paper--itsfinancial news is edited to this very hour in the offices of Wyman'sbankers, and I can prove it to anybody who wants me to. That's thesort of proposition a man's up against; and what's the use ofgathering the news?"

　　And Bates rose up with an oath, kicking away the chair behind him."Come on," he said; "let's get out of here. I don't know that I'llever come back."

　　Montague spent another hour wandering about with Bates, listening tohis opinion of the newspapers of the Metropolis. Then, utterlyexhausted, he went home; but not to sleep. He sat in a chair for anhour or two, his mind besieged by images of ruin and destruction. Atlast he lay down, but he had not closed his eyes when daylight beganto stream into the room.

　　At eight o'clock he was up again and at the telephone. He called upLucy's apartment house.

　　"I want to speak to Mrs. Taylor," he said.

　　"She is not in," was the reply.

　　"Will you ring up the apartment?" asked Montague. "I will speak tothe maid."

　　"This is Mr. Montague," he said, when he heard the woman's voice."Where is Mrs. Taylor?"

　　"She has not come back, sir," was the reply.

　　Montague had some work before him that day which could not be putoff. Accordingly he bathed and shaved, and had some coffee in hisroom, and then set out for his office. Even at that early hour therewere crowds in the financial district, and another day's crop ofrumours had begun to spring. He heard nothing about the Gotham TrustCompany; but when he left court at lunch time, the newsboys on thestreet were shouting the announcement of the action of the bankdirectors. Lucy had failed in her errand, then; the blow had fallen!

　　There was almost a panic on the Exchange that day, and the terrorand anxiety upon the faces of the people who thronged the financialdistrict were painful to see. But the courts did not suspend, evenon account of the Gotham Trust; and Montague had an important caseto argue. He came out on the street late in the afternoon, andthough it was after banking hours, he saw crowds in front of acouple of the big trust companies, and he read in the papers that arun upon the Gotham Trust had begun.

　　At his office he found a telegram from his brother Oliver, who wasstill in the Adirondacks: "Money in Trust Company of the Republic.Notify me of the slightest sign of trouble."

　　He replied that there was none; and, as he rode up in the subway, hethought the problem over, and made up his own mind. He had a trifleover sixty thousand dollars in Prentice's institution--more thanhalf of all he owned. He had Prentice's word for it that the Companywas in a sound condition, and he believed it. He made up his mindthat he would not be one of those to be stampeded, whatever mighthappen.

　　He dined quietly at home with his mother; then he took his way uptown again to Lucy's apartment; for he was haunted by the thought ofher, and could not rest. He had read in the late evening papers thatStanley Ryder had resigned from the Gotham Trust Company.

　　"Is Mrs. Taylor in?" he asked, and gave his name.

　　"Mrs. Taylor says will you please to wait, sir," was the reply. AndMontague sat down in the reception-room. A couple of minutes later,the hall-boy brought him a note.

　　He opened it and read these words, in a trembling hand:--

　　"Dear Allan: It is good of you to try to help me, but I cannot bearit. Please go away. I do not want you to think about me. Lucy."

　　Montague could read the agony between those lines; but there wasnothing he could do about it. He went over to Broadway, and startedto walk down town.

　　He felt that he must have someone to talk to, to take his mind offthese things. He thought of the Major, and went over to the club,but the storm had routed out even the Major, it appeared. He wasjust off to attend some conference, and had only time to shake handswith Montague, and tell him to "trim sail."

　　Then he thought of Bates, and went down to the office of theExpress. He found Bates hard at work, seated at a table in hisshirt-sleeves, and with stacks of papers around him.

　　"I can always spare time for a chat," he said, as Montague offeredto go.

　　"I see you came back," observed the other.

　　"I'm like an old horse in a tread mill," answered Bates. "What elseis there for me to do?"

　　He leaned back in his chair, and put his thumbs in his armholes."Well," he remarked, "they made their killing."

　　"They did, indeed," said Montague.

　　"And they're not satisfied yet," exclaimed the other. "They're onanother trail!"

　　"What!" cried Montague.

　　"Listen," said Bates. "I went in to see David Ward about the actionof the Clearinghouse Committee; Gary--he's the Despatch man--waswith me. Ward talked for half an hour, as he always does; he told usall about the gallant efforts which the bankers were making to stemthe tide, and he told us that the Trust Company of the Republic wasin danger and that an agreement had been made to try to save it.Mind you, there's not been the least sign of trouble for thecompany.' 'Shall we print that?' asked Gary. 'Surely,' said Ward.'But it will make trouble,' said Gary. 'That's all right,' saidWard. 'It's a fact. So print it.' Now what do you think of that?"

　　Montague sat rigid. "But I thought they had promised to protectPrentice!" he exclaimed.

　　"Yes," said Bates, grimly; "and now they throw him down."

　　"Do you suppose Waterman knew that?"

　　"Why, of course; Ward is no more than one of his clerks."

　　"And will the Despatch print it, do you suppose?"

　　"I don't know why not," said the other. "I asked Gary if he wasgoing to put it in, and he said 'Yes.' 'It will make another panic,'I said, and he answered, 'Panics are news.'"

　　Montague said nothing for a minute or two. Finally he remarked, "Ihave good reason to believe that the Trust Company of the Republicis perfectly sound."

　　"I have no doubt of it," was the reply.

　　"Then why--" He stopped.

　　Bates shrugged his shoulders. "Ask Waterman," he said. "It's somequarrel or other; he wants to put the screws on somebody. Perhapsit's simply that two trust companies will scare the President morethan one; or perhaps it's some stock he wants to break. I've heardit said that he has seventy-five millions laid by to pick upbargains with; and I shouldn't wonder if it was true."

　　There was a moment's pause. "And by the way," Bates added, "the OilTrust has made another haul! The Electric Manufacturing Company isin trouble--that's a rival of one of their enterprises! Doesn't itall fit together beautifully?"

　　Montague thought for a moment or two. "This is rather important newsto me," he said; "I've got money in the Trust Company of theRepublic. Do you suppose they are going to let it go down?"

　　"I talked it over with Rodney," the other replied. "He says Watermanwas quite explicit in his promises to see Prentice through. Andthere's one thing you can say about old Dan--for all his villainies,he never breaks his word. So I imagine he'll save it."

　　"But then, why give out this report?" exclaimed the lawyer.

　　"Don't you see?" said Bates. "He wants a chance to save it."

　　Montague's jaw fell. "Oh!" he said.

　　"It's as plain as the nose on your face," said Bates. "That storywill come out to-morrow morning, and everybody will say it was theblunder of a newspaper reporter; and then Waterman will come forwardand do the rescue act. It'll be just like a play."

　　"It's taking a long chance," said Montague, and added, "I hadthought of telling Prentice, who's an intimate friend of mine; but Idon't suppose it will do him any good."

　　"Poor old Prentice can't help himself," was the reply. "All you cando is to make him lose a night's sleep."

　　Montague went out, with a new set of problems to ponder. As he wenthome, he passed the magnificent building of the Gotham TrustCompany, where there stood a long line of people who had prepared tospend the night. All the afternoon a frantic mob had besieged thedoors, and millions of dollars had been withdrawn in a few hours.Montague knew that by the time he got down town the next morningthere would be another such mob in front of the Trust Company of theRepublic; but he was determined to stand by his own resolve.However, he had sent a telegram to Oliver, warning him to return atonce.

　　He went home and found there another letter from Lucy Dupree.

　　"Dear Allan," she wrote. "No doubt you have heard the news thatRyder has been forced out of the Gotham Trust. But I haveaccomplished part of my purpose--Waterman has promised that he willput him on his feet again after this trouble is over. In themeantime, I am told to go away. This is for the best; you willremember that you yourself urged me to go. Ryder cannot see me,because the newspaper reporters are following him so closely.

　　"I beg of you not to try to find me. I am hateful in my own sight,and you will never see me again. There is one last thing that youcan do for me. Go to Stanley Ryder and offer him your help--I meanyour advice in straightening out his affairs. He has no friends now,and he is in a desperate plight. Do this for me. Lucy."